


why would you weep, my friends, for me?

by Order_Of_The_Forks, TatlTael4Ever



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: M/M, RIP, Sort Of, Teen Pregnancy, Trans Connor, Unplanned Pregnancy, connor and jared sort of have a friends with benefits kinda thing going on, misgendering sorry, oliver's idea, pregnancy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 16:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Order_Of_The_Forks/pseuds/Order_Of_The_Forks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatlTael4Ever/pseuds/TatlTael4Ever
Summary: Connor had been arrested twice in his high school experience for petty theft: once for a bottle of nail polish and the second time for a pregnancy test.





	why would you weep, my friends, for me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TatlTael4Ever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatlTael4Ever/gifts).



There really weren’t many downsides to sharing a bathroom with one’s little sister. Sure, the shower drain got clogged with hair and it was a pain to make it in and out in the mornings, but overall, Connor didn’t necessarily loathe sharing a bathroom.

One of the major downsides, however, was the lack of privacy. When Zoe got her period, Connor knew. And vice versa. Because although he was allowed to go by the name ‘Connor’ and use he/him pronouns, his parents still wouldn’t let him medically transition on the off chance that it still might be a phase.

So sure, Connor acted out. And maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but it was the only thing he could do to try and escape the suffocating holds put on him. He grew his hair out until it was greasy and unmanageable and even Connor was disgusted with it. He had been arrested twice in his high school experience for petty theft: once for a bottle of nail polish and the second time for a pregnancy test.

A fucking pregnancy test.

Because although his period was a fucking nightmare of pain and dysphoria, at least he knew he wasn’t pregnant. So that day, after Clue was definitely wrong, Connor went down to the CVS and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, which anybody who knows Connor Murphy knows is impossible. And he pocketed the cheapest pregnancy test and tried to leave the store innocently, but of course the stupid detector thing had to beep and his parents had to bail him out and he had to beg the police not to tell his parents it was a pregnancy test, that it was a chocolate bar or something. The cop was a young woman and Connor could see the sympathy in her eyes, and when his parents came in they just looked disappointed, not batshit crazy.

So Connor was under the radar for the time being.

The trouble was the father. 

Because he had just won Evan’s affections but he was still walking on thin ice. 

And he had to go fuck it all up.

He didn’t put it all together until he woke up the next morning with Zoe waving that stupid fucking test in front of his face.

“What the hell is this?” She demanded.

“Nothin’,” Connor said, not very convincingly. 

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t mine. If you haven’t forgotten, I’m gay.” 

Connor squinted his eyes to block out the light coming in from his window. What time was it? “So am I.”

“Yeah, but you have…” she paused. “Girl parts.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Zoe scowled. “Can you not be a fucking dick for once in your life and tell me what happened? Otherwise mom and dad are going to think I’m the one who’s knocked up.”

“Or you can just subtly and graciously chuck it in the garbage and let us all move on.” 

“We can’t just move on!” Zoe cried, then dropped her voice to a hushed whisper. “It’s positive.” 

“It was a mistake.”

“Did you use protection?”

“Yeah- I mean, I think. I was drunk.”

“You were drunk?” 

“And high.”

“And high!” Zoe acted like she was in a movie. All flabbergasted and shit.

Connor groaned. “Let me sleep, you asshole.”

Zoe’s voice was beyond hushed, even though Connor was pretty sure they were home alone. “Are you gonna tell Evan?”

“Am I going to tell-”

Shit.

Evan.

Of course the father was the worst person possible; his smoking buddy, a fellow student, and the most insufferable person Connor had ever met in his entire life. 

So where’s the best place to confront the father of one’s unborn child? Clearly at his job at the hardware store in broad daylight.

So Connor strolls right up to the counter of Harvey’s Hardware with a handful of shoplifted screws from the bin by the door in his pocket and ABBA playing in his headphones. 

“Welcome to Harvey’s, how may I help you?”

Connor grimaced. “Are you going on break anytime soon?”

“Yeah, in, like, five minutes.” 

“Cool. I’ll wait.” 

“What’s this about?”

Connor grabbed his hand, and his own reflection in the glass behind the counter scared him. So it was no surprise the rattled cashier walked right on out where Connor led, around the back of the store and out into the alley where they stored the grills and lawn chairs. 

“I still don’t-”

“Cut the shit, Kleinman. You and I both know why you’re here.”

Jared Kleinman looked so pathetic in his stupid green apron and his too-big glasses that made his eyes bug out. Connor wondered why he had ever even considered fucking him. 

“If it’s about the…” he dropped his voice, as if his boss was going to round the corner at that very moment. “You know, I want you to know that it didn’t mean anything and I know you and Evan, are, well, I don’t know, but I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well your sorry amounts to fuck-all.” Connor crossed his arms and looked back at that green apron, the same green apron Jared had crumpled in his backpack that day. “I, uh.”

“Damn, Con. Don’t tell me you’re knocked up or something.” Jared cracks one of his cocky smiles, but it quickly falls when he sees Connor’s face. “Holy shit.”

Connor’s voice comes out as a dull croak. “Yeah.”

He can almost see Jared go through the five stages of grief in a second. “Well, you’ve got to get an abortion or something, right? I mean, we’re still in high school. I work at a fucking hardware store!”

“I haven’t even told my parents yet!” Connor hissed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Uh… how far along are you?”

“I just took the test yesterday. I honestly don’t fucking know!”

Jared looks beyond scared. “Okay. Okay. Fuck!”

“It- it’s fine. You don’t need to be a part of this.” It hurts Connor to say, but he doesn’t want to drag anyone down with him.

“No! I knocked you up, I should be able to help you, jeez!”

“What about MIT?”

“It doesn’t matter right now.” Jared sighed. “I need to go back to work. But I think you should tell your parents.”

Connor could feel his heart running laps inside his chest. He really didn’t know if he could fight the growing urge to die. But he did the only thing he could, and in a moment of calamity he hooked a finger under Jared’s chin and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips that seemed to spell all kinds of farewell. 

 

-

 

Long story short, Connor was grounded.

Larry and Cynthia had gone absolutely berserk when he told them. Larry was convinced that this somehow invalidated his trans-ness, even though he had never been super against it before. Cynthia was just worried he would drop out of school. Or kill himself.

Which, technically, was a valid fear, because Connor found himself in the park with both a will and a way.

But as he lay on the dew-cold park bench, he didn’t really want to die. Usually, the thought was nagging in the back of his head at all times, but that voice was silent. All Connor could hear were the crickets and the cars driving by behind the trees.

“Connor?”

He sat up. There, by the swingset, was Evan fucking Hansen. Jesus christ.

“Uh- yeah?”

Evan walked forward towards the bench and hovered by it, unsure of whether or not to sit. “Zoe called me. She, uh… she told me.”

“Great.”

“I’m just- um, we’ve never? You know?”

Connor sighed. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Evan did sit down at this point. “Who-who is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” Connor tipped his head back up to look at the stars. There were so many tonight. “It’ll just make everything worse.”

“Oh.”

“You seem surprisingly calm.” Connor snorted. 

Evan shrugged limply. “Just numb, I guess.”

“Not mad that I fucked someone else and got pregnant?”

“I mean, we-we aren’t really dating, right?” Evan’s voice didn’t seem as high-strung as usual. He just seemed tired. “I can’t really, um, hold it against you?”

“Look, I’m sorry.” It was cold in the park, and Connor pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “Everything’s going to be fucked up because of me.”

Evan smiled softly. “It- nobody’s even going to know.”

And as comforting as that idea was, it was hardly true. Because the very next Monday Connor woke up to three alerts on his phone, three more than he was used to.

The first one was an email from Alana Beck. Connor didn’t read it.

The second one was from Zoe. “I’m sorry,” it read.

Which was ominous as fuck.

The third, and worst, was a link to an instagram page and a single text from Jared, under the contact name of “fuvk daddy”, which he really needed to change: “check. this. out.” 

Connor, his vision blurred from sleep, clicked on the link, which led him to an instagram account bearing the name “The Connor Project 2018.”

What. The. Fuck. 

The bio was a link to a gofundme, and there were only two posts. 

Connor clicked on the first, which was a video of Alana Beck. He turned his volume to the lowest and watched. 

“Hi, West High! I’ve started this thing called the Connor Project. It’s come to my attention that one of our classmates is a little down on their luck, so I’ve started a gofundme to support them. Even if you can’t donate, spread the word! We at West High pride ourselves on our community, and what use is a strong community if we can’t support each other in our time of need? See you on Monday and go West High Panthers!”

Connor, still bleary, stumbled out of bed, fully intending to pound on Zoe’s door until either she opened it or he broke it down.

He didn’t expect to see her in the hallway with a towel around her head, half dressed in her school clothes, and it was clear she didn’t expect to see him either, judging by the way her jaw dropped. 

“What the fuck?” Connor said, and it was a lot louder than he intended it to be.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was just, you know, venting to Alana! I didn’t know she would do this!” 

“This is a whole new level, Zoe! You’ve spread my personal life to the whole fucking school!”

Zoe’s lip quivered. “I-I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, you’d fucking better be!” Connor yelled, and yanked Zoe’s towel turban back from her forehead, making her shriek in pain. And sure, it hurt to see the tears in her eyes, but Connor was too far gone. Connor was almost to the bathroom when from behind him he could hear Zoe’s last retort.

“You’d make a terrible mother.”

Connor could feel his blood boil in his veins. There was a watercolor painting of sailboats hung to his right, and in a moment of seething blindness, Connor lifted it off of the wall and hurled it down the hall, where it flew with devastating strength and hit Zoe’s bedroom door, just to the left of her head, where it exploded into a million pieces of serene blue glass.

Immediately Connor could hear the breakfast conversations downstairs halt and Zoe burst into tears.

He could hear two sets of feet on the stairs, his mother’s tentative and his father’s pounding ones. 

Or was that his own heartbeat?

His parents rounded the corner, stopping short at the glass on the floor.

“What’s this?” Larry demanded, picking up a shard and inspecting it like he was Sherlock fucking Holmes or something. “Connor, what did you do?”

Connor couldn’t speak. His tongue felt too large in his mouth, and his teeth ground together like a barrier.

Cynthia didn’t seem angry. She just sighed and said, “I think we need a session with Dr. Parkman.”

“You can’t just condone this type of behavior!” Larry argued. “He’s going to school, and that’s that.”

“He’s coming with me. If we can talk to a psychiatrist, try to figure out-”

“Connor is going to school.” Larry seemed firm in his convictions, but Cynthia was stronger.

“He’ll go tomorrow.”

So Connor found himself sitting on the uncomfortable upholstered chair of Dr. Parkman’s office with unbrushed hair and a pajama shirt under his hoodie.

He had known Dr. Parkman since he was a kid, when he first started showing signs of fuck-up-ness. 

“Now, Olivia-” Connor grimaced, “I’m sorry, Connor. I forget. Connor, why do you think you’re here?”

“Because I threw a painting at my sister,” Connor deadpanned.

“That’s true. Why did you do that?” Dr. Parkman had his notebook out and his pen poised in the air, so still he looked like a wax figure.

“She was being an asshole.”

Dr. Parkman scribbled something and looked back up. “What did she do?”

“I dunno.”

“Olivia, we’ll never get anywhere if you won’t talk.”

Connor scowled. “We’ll never get anywhere if you keep calling me that.”

“Over the phone, your mother expressed other concerns. What do you think those might be?”

“Maybe that I’m pregnant,” Connor said dully.

Dr. Parkman scribbled some more. “How are you feeling?”

Connor snorted. “Like shit.”

“Would you like to elaborate?”

“No.”

“Have you thought about your future regarding this child?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you imagine?”

“I dunno.”

This went on for the whole session, with Connor giving the weakest answers possible while Dr. Parkman milked every nugget of emotion he could find.

He left exactly the same as he went in: pregnant, dysphoric, and depressed. 

On Tuesday, Larry won, and Connor went to school.

The Connor Project page already had three hundred followers.

His first stop was Alana’s locker.

“Connor!” She said brightly, her arms laden with textbooks. She was in all AP classes, it looked like. Connor didn’t want to even imagine that kind of workload. “I was looking for you yesterday. Did you read my email?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, I was explaining what The Connor Project was, and-”

“Why did you call me ‘they?’” Connor interrupted.

Alana’s smile twitched. “I wanted to be respectful, and I didn’t know what pronouns you used…” 

“You’ve known me since second grade, Alana.”

“I also wanted to protect your identity, you know? That’s why I kept the situation as vague as possible.”

Connor slammed his palm against the wall of lockers, catching the attention of everyone in the hall. “Then don’t call it the fucking Connor Project!” He said. “Just tell the entire school that Connor Murphy is pregnant and get it over with!”

Audible gasps went up around the two, and Connor realized he had yelled that last sentence. One of the guidance counselors, Ms. Oliver, came hustling over. “Mr. Murphy. I’ve been looking for you. Can we talk?”

Connor stepped back and realized he was cornered against the lockers. “Now’s not a good time.”

Ms. Oliver put her hands on his shoulders, and even the gentle touch made his skin crawl. He was going to lose his goddamn mind if he didn’t get out. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He screamed, pulling away, the pins on his bag screeching against the wall.

She made the mistake of putting a hand on his arm, and Connor felt his brain exploding in his skull. “I said don’t touch me!” The eyes of all his classmates were on him, and he could feel the stares creeping up his neck and face. “I have fucking sensory issues!”

Titters replaced the cold silence of the hallway, because terrifying Connor was pregnant and had sensory issues, apparently.

And the last thing Connor wanted to do was sit in another office and talk about his feelings.

So he did the logical thing and ran. He just bolted out of the school, out of the emergency exit that had never been alarmed, between cars in the parking lot. 

He found himself in the park again, back on that cold bench under the trees.

He thought about his future, about morning sickness and doctors visits and abortions. About Evan and Jared and Zoe and hell, even Cynthia and Larry. About Alana and her stupid fundraiser. 

And he knew one day he was going to have to stop running.

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome to my shit brain  
> thanks for the idea oliver now i have to get back to my actual writing  
> i never really like making my boys suffer


End file.
